


Aziraphale's Pants

by ShortInsomniac98



Series: Trousers and Other Cockblocks [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Belly Kissing, Comedy, Groping, Kissing, Lemon, M/M, Neck Kissing, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Porn With Plot, Quote: You can stay at my place (Good Omens), Smut, Underwear, clothes as a cock block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortInsomniac98/pseuds/ShortInsomniac98
Summary: Followup fic to "Crowley's Trousers," in which Crowley gets trapped in his too-tight trousers. This time, it's Aziraphale's underwear that are the problem.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Trousers and Other Cockblocks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604023
Comments: 11
Kudos: 141





	Aziraphale's Pants

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a headcanon a few weeks back on my Tumblr about Aziraphale wearing ill-constructed Victorian underwear, and yihagathe (aka thegoodomensdumpster) encouraged me to write my headcanon as a fic in the style of "Crowley's Trousers." So. Here's this thing. Admittedly, this is much filthier than "Crowley's Trousers." Sorry, not sorry.

They had just gotten in and shut the door when Aziraphale grabbed Crowley unexpectedly by the lapels and pulled him down into a kiss. This certainly hadn’t been what Crowley had meant or expected when he offered Aziraphale a place to stay for the night. Sure, he’d thought about it, but he never thought something like this would actually happen. He picked up Aziraphale’s tempo and began kissing him back, matching his hunger and his intensity with six thousand years’ worth of his own, letting it pour from him like rain.

No, like a waterfall.

Oh, bugger, the analogy really didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that Aziraphale was there, and Aziraphale was kissing him, and apparently Aziraphale wanted him just as much as he had wanted him for so long.

Abruptly, Aziraphale broke the kiss and looked at him, a certain measure of hope in his eyes, and excitement, and love. _So much love_. Crowley had seen it before, in shimmers and glints and flashes over the millennia, but never like this. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, and then he was kissing Crowley again, hard and sweet.

Crowley pulled him closer. He needed him closer. Pressed his body all the way against Aziraphale’s, but still didn’t feel quite close enough. But then Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his neck, and he sighed, wrapping his own arms around Aziraphale’s waist. Holding him was unlike anything he’d ever imagined. Actually _holding_ _him_ , well God, it felt like Heaven and Hell and Earth and every galaxy in all the universe was finally his, and more.

“Dear boy,” Aziraphale breathed out between kisses, his fingers winding into Crowley’s hair and earning a soft moan in response.

“ _Hmm_ …yes?” Crowley sighed.

“You have got a bedroom, haven’t you?” he asked, breaking the kiss and looking at him full on.

Crowley sputtered. “Oh, er,” he hesitated with a small singular laugh, “yeah. ‘Course.”

“Can we take this in there then?” Aziraphale asked, his voice quieter. He swallowed. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything more than this. I just…”

“Yes,” Crowley said quickly—maybe a bit too quickly, he realized embarrassedly.

Aziraphale smiled. “Alright,” he whispered. He nodded. “Good.”

They stumbled back to the bedroom at the end of the hall, kissing and laughing all the way. Crowley reached for the light switch, and, not finding it, decided they were fine without it and let Aziraphale pull him over to the bed and down on top of him.

“How do you, erm,” Crowley hesitated, “how do you usually…I mean, how do you prefer to…er…?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Aziraphale said evenly, caressing Crowley’s cheek.

“Okay,” Crowley said, nodding. “Okay. That’s…okay.” He tried to think, but for some reason he couldn’t remember just what it was he preferred. “Okay,” he said again, and Aziraphale giggled. “Okay.”

“If you’d prefer,” Aziraphale said as he played with the lapel of Crowley’s jacket, “I can start things off.”

“No, I just think…” Crowley said, sitting up. “I think I know what I’d like to do.”

He shrugged his jacket off and pulled his tie off, and tossed them out of the way to the other end of the bed. Then he leaned down to kiss Aziraphale, soft and slow. His hand came to rest on Aziraphale’s thigh, and he slid it slowly upwards, pausing just before he reached the front of his trousers, where the fabric felt slightly tighter.

“This okay?” he asked, his lips ghosting over Aziraphale’s.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, his head lolling to the side ever so slightly, as though exposing his throat for Crowley.

Without hesitation, Crowley’s lips traveled lower, down over Aziraphale’s jaw to his throat, which he began to kiss and nip at hungrily. Having found a particularly sensitive spot near Aziraphale’s collar, Crowley wrapped his lips around it and began to suck at it, drawing a sharp gasp and a moan from deep within Aziraphale’s throat. His hand slid higher and he pressed his palm into Aziraphale’s erection.

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, _yes_.”

Crowley hummed against his neck in response, sucking harder to keep from crying out as his own cock throbbed, begging to be touched, and he squeezed Aziraphale through his trousers.

“ _Oh_. Crowley, that feel’s wonderful.”

Crowley moaned at hearing his name fall from Aziraphale’s lips like a blessing, some highly exalted thing. His hand began to move faster. He loved how Aziraphale was reacting to this, loved how good he was making him feel, loved every word, every noise, every breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aziraphale panted. “ _Please_. Crowley. _More_ , just— _hng_.”

“What do you want?” Crowley asked, his lips still on the angel’s neck.

“If…if it’s not too crude,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley pulled back to look at him. “Anything you want,” he said earnestly.

“I want your mouth on me.”

Crowley smiled, a sly sort of grin. “Alright,” he said.

He started to unbutton Aziraphale’s trousers. Of course it was all buttons. No zip. He’d bought these trousers before the invention of the zip. But Crowley didn’t mind. Not really.

He undid the last one and sat up to pull them down and off, tossing them to the floor; then he got up on his knees and crawled to the edge of the bed slowly. Aziraphale sat up with him, and watched as he came to stand in front of him. He pulled Crowley into a tender kiss, and parted his legs willingly as Crowley pushed them apart with his knees just a bit.

Crowley’s lips were on his neck again while his hands began to slowly untie his bowtie. He tossed that to the side and began to unbutton his waistcoat, then his shirt, his lips following lower and lower, over every newly exposed piece of skin. When he reached his chest, he pushed his shirt to the side and flicked his tongue over Aziraphale’s nipple.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale sighed. “ _Hmm_ …”

Crowley glanced up to see Aziraphale sitting there, his eyes closed. The look on his face was one of complete bliss, a look which Crowley typically had only ever seen at lunchtime but which had always made him wonder if he made the same face when—

Well.

Now he had his answer.

He took Aziraphale’s nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it slowly. Aziraphale’s breath hitched and his hips rose off the bed.

“ _Crowley_ ,” he gasped, placing a hand on the back of Crowley’s head. “ _Uhn_ … _yeeeess_.”

For added measure, Crowley began to suck gently, and gasped when he felt Aziraphale’s fingers tangle into his hair and pull gently. His cock twitched, straining hard against the tight fabric of his jeans. He gripped Aziraphale’s knee hard. At this rate, between the noises Aziraphale was making and the number he was doing on his hair, Crowley was going to have to start praying he wouldn’t come in his trousers before anything really happened.

He’d better get moving, he thought, and he felt for where the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers should have been and found only cloth. Stiff, white cotton. He felt higher, following it up to his navel.

“What on Earth,” he murmured, barely audible.

“Something the matter?” Aziraphale asked, but Crowley didn’t respond.

He tried to pull them down from the bottom, but they stayed in place. At the top again, he tried to push his hand underneath the waistband, but found it taut against the angel’s waist. He pulled at them, half expecting them to extend and then snap back into place like his own boxers, but still, they remained unaffected.

“Aziraphale,” he said finally, “what the Heaven do you call these?”

“Underpants,” Aziraphale said, seemingly not understanding. “And they were considered quite attractive underpants not that long ago. What do _you_ call them?”

“A bloody nightmare, if I’m honest,” Crowley chuckled, leaning back to get a good look at them. He snapped his fingers to turn the lights on. “I mean, how do you even get them on and off?”

“There are buttons,” Aziraphale said, showing him a line of small white buttons through a series of loops.

“And you undo them every time?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Of course. What else am I to do? Rip them off?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, examining them in consideration. “What I’m half tempted to do.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Aziraphale said, defensive.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Crowley said. “They’re your hellpants.”

Crowley paused, his face falling, realization settling into his eyes.

“ _Oh, damn_ ,” he groaned, and fell backwards onto his ass, smiling stupidly and stifling a giggle.

“What?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley burst into a fit of laughter and fell backwards, his legs splayed out in front of him, covering his face with his hands as Aziraphale stared at him, quite confused and admittedly a bit concerned.

“Of course!” Crowley cried, rolling onto his side and wiping away tears which were welling up in his eyes.

“Dear, I’m getting worried. What is so funny?”

“Angel,” Crowley said, sobering just a bit, “I invented them.”

“Invented them?”

“Yes,” he said, and snorted out a laugh.

“The… _pants_?”

“The pants! The bloody hideous, ill-constructed hellpants you’ve got on,” he said. “I was quite proud of them, too, until I got stuck in a pair back in 1852 when I was trying to—” His eyes widened, he cleared his throat, and suddenly became very interested in the color of the carpet. “Oh, it doesn’t matter what I was trying to do, actually,” he said flatly. “Actually, I was quite glad when they went out of fashion. Never thought I’d see them again.”

“I am _literally_ wearing pants from Hell,” Aziraphale said, unamused.

“Well, from Mayfair, but yeah, pretty much,” Crowley said, smiling again.

“And I’ve been wearing them for a hundred and seventy years?” he asked, his tone rising.

“’S not my fault!” Crowley said defensively.

“Dear, you could have warned me!”

“Hey, it’s not my business what you’ve got in your trousers. Well, it wasn’t until tonight at least,” he said. “You could have been wearing a G-string for all I knew.”

Aziraphale looked appalled. “I most certainly would not.”

“I said _could_ , not _would_ ,” Crowley said, and he paused for a minute, getting up on his knees again and coming over to kneel between Aziraphale’s legs, his elbows resting gently on the angel’s knees. “Hey,” he said softer, “they don’t bother me. Really.”

“No?”

“No,” Crowley said matter-of-factly. “Now. I wouldn’t suppose you’d like to continue now that I know what I’m up against?”

“If you’d like,” Aziraphale said. “Your choice, darling.”

He caressed Crowley’s cheek and smiled down at him.

“Alright,” Crowley said, and started peppering small kisses over Aziraphale’s tummy as he undid the buttons slowly, one by one.

Aziraphale sighed, carding a hand through Crowley’s hair before crying, “Oh!” in an urgent sort of tone, just before Crowley reached the last button.

“What?” Crowley asked, pulling back, startled.

“I’ve just remembered. I could do this,” he said, and snapped his fingers, miracling the pants off and neatly folded on the nightstand.

He smiled, quite proud of himself, and Crowley looked Heavenward, rolling his eyes slightly.

“Oh, Satan, give me strength.”


End file.
